


so be a man

by figure8



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Introspection, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: Junhui’s categories are all jumbled together.





	so be a man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanguang-jacked (nasaplates)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaplates/gifts).
  * Inspired by [take my sympathy for granted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773881) by [nasaplates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaplates/pseuds/nasaplates). 

> i was given a free pass to remix any nasaplates fic i wanted anywhere anytime. this is a vague prequel to _take my sympathy for granted_, but i suggest you read them in posting and not chronological order.

_ so be a man and take my sympathy for granted / now wash your hands of all the little lies you planted _

Mingyu doesn’t understand. 

It’s not his fault. Junhui didn’t expect him to, didn’t give him anything to work with, shouldn’t feel the disappointment gnawing at his insides. Their arrangement is simple: it’s not easy liking men in this industry, it’s even harder being in love with one. It’s an unspoken pact, but they both know—this, Mingyu’s hands on Junhui’s hips, his mouth panting sweet nonsense against the hollow of Junhui’s throat, that’s as good as it gets. It’s practical. Fooling around with strangers is out of question, and sleeping with other idols still carries risk; keeping it inside the group is the second best option, right after _ keeping your dick in your pants. _

They were never really friends. They got along just fine, but the pieces never seemed to quite fall into place, never clicked. Minghao was always the bridge between them, the missing link. Junhui had hated Mingyu for a short, short lapse of time, when Mingyu and Minghao were first trading the waters of friendship, clearly destined for something bigger. It’s a simple fact of life, now, that Minghao considers Mingyu family, and that he sees Junhui as a brother, but somehow these two things are not equal, do not carry the same meaning. 

They were never really friends, but there was always a _ kinship, _a moment of recognition, sharp and impossible to ignore—you and I are the same. And Junhui would have kept it at that, small nods of acknowledgement that he shares with other idols he knows are gay, a hidden wavelength, except he and Mingyu share another, more terrible secret. 

_ You can pretend I’m him, _ Junhui had murmured lips aerial on the shell of Mingyu’s ear the second time they’d had sex, fingers trailing down his chest. Mingyu had shaken his head no, almost insulted by the suggestion, but later with his eyes closed and Junhui inside him he had let it slip from his mouth, _ Minghao, Minghao, Minghao— _

They play a dangerous game. It’s a triangular relationship, except the third member is an unwilling, unwitting participant. Junhui knows Mingyu and Minghao had a fight before anyone else notices, always, and once upon a time it used to be because he knew how to read Minghao like an open book, but now it’s through Mingyu, nails leaving red marks on Junhui’s shoulder blades. When Minghao and Junhui come back from China after filming CYZJ Mingyu fucks him for hours but keeps him on the edge, doesn’t let him come until Junhui is crying against the white sheets, begging. It’s jealousy, Junhui knows, and it is something else too, something too twisted and messy for words. 

Minghao is blind. Willfully, maybe, although Junhui doubts it, because Minghao can be harsh, can be too honest, but he is never cruel. Maybe he doesn’t want to see. He seems happy enough to believe his two best friends are actually actively spending time with each other instead of begrudgingly accepting that they have to exist in the same space for his sake. It must be nice, Junhui thinks, to have things neatly tidied up in little mental boxes like this, categorized. 

Junhui’s categories are all jumbled together. Minghao is his friend and he is also his home away from home and his refuge and his greatest source of sorrow. He’s not Junhui’s first love and he’s not even Junhui’s first heartbreak, but he’s the thorn Junhui can never get rid of, a constant ache, a wound he’s learned to live with because the alternative is unthinkable. 

_ Mingyu _ also lives in several boxes inside Junhui’s head. Coworker. Rival. Ally. _ Lover. _They rearrange themselves all the time and never quite fit together. Junhui has come to the conclusion he just needs a bigger box. 

Which brings him to his initial point: Mingyu doesn’t understand. Mingyu is in love with Minghao, devotion clear as day, so easily legible in his gaze. One track mind, no distractions. They’ve been doing this… thing for almost a year now, and while Minghao’s name doesn’t get called out loud anymore, he’s always in the room. It would be hard for him not to be, considering Mingyu carries him with him everywhere he goes. 

But Junhui isn’t like that. He’s not good at keeping things separate, never has been. It’s hard to have someone so entirely and remain detached, he really doesn’t get how other people do it. It is impossible, really, to be kissed and touched and held by someone and not develop _ some _sort of feelings, he reasons with himself. And Mingyu kisses so sweet, touches so gentle, holds so strongly. 

So here is where Junhui stands now, like an idiot, like a fool. He has seeked relief from love and found himself with twice as much of it and still nowhere to store it.

He stares at Mingyu putting his pants back on, his stomach twisting on itself like a snake, lets his eyes retrace the lines of Mingyu’s body. He knows this body by heart, could draw it blindfolded. He knows other things, too. How Mingyu bites the inside of his cheek when he’s concentrating, how he always sits between two people if he can help it because human presence grounds him, how he sounds laughing at something stupid at two in the morning when nothing really makes sense anymore in the dark. He knows what Mingyu sounds like in almost every situation, really. Sick and puking his guts out in the toilet bowl, drunkenly belting old 2NE1 classics in a noraebang, breath coming out shaky and ragged as he’s about to come, crying grateful tears on stage, crying pained tears on the practice room floor. Junhui doesn’t know what to do with all that information.

Mingyu buckles his belt, checks his hair in Junhui’s mirror. In another life he bends down, Junhui imagines, presses a purposeless kiss to Junhui’s brow. In another life he understands. 

In this life Mingyu just leaves. 


End file.
